


Sparks

by Jaye_Voy



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6508936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaye_Voy/pseuds/Jaye_Voy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom recalls meeting Chakotay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Set before the final scene of "Ex Post Facto". The song listed is "Bother" by Corey Taylor from the "Spider-Man" soundtrack. If you've never heard it, you can get a 30-second sense of the mood and sound at www.cdnow.com.  
> Originally written in 2002. Although there are some tweaks, the story's contents (and its flaws) are mostly intact.  
> Star Trek and all related characters and concepts are the property of Paramount. No infringement is intended or profit made. This is NC-17 for m/m sex.

PART ONE

Tom stumbled into the turbolift and collapsed against the wall. He felt it descend to answer another summons but didn't have the wherewithal to order a destination for himself.

Considering how awful he felt, it was ironic he had just *left* Sickbay. There was nothing the Doc could really do for him now. He was suffering the aftereffects of the removal of the Banean engrams---and the way he'd kept his mouth shut during the subsequent lectures.

His lips parted in a silent snarl as he recalled the Captain and the Doc droning on and on about "irresponsible and irrational behavior" and "the enormous risk forced upon the ship and crew through the unconsidered and inconsiderate actions of one of its members". Along with the "clearly defined protocols regarding sex with unknown species" and the Captain's simply charming admonition to "find another outlet for all that energy, Lieutenant". 

Kes's presence made the experience doubly humiliating. He'd nearly bitten through his tongue to keep from mouthing off, and now the suppressed anger and frustration joined the dregs of anxiety and adrenaline coursing through him.

But he had to suck it up until his body calmed.

Soon would be good, immediately even better, because right now he felt like shit. The blood roared in his ears, his vision dimmed and flickered at the edges. A heaving stomach left Tom profoundly grateful he hadn't eaten much in the last few days.

How could he, with a murdered man's memories parading relentlessly before his eyes. Worse than the images themselves had been the dread of knowing his moments of respite were mere illusions. The return of that visual assault was as regular as clockwork and as inescapable as death.

He slid down the lift wall into a squat. The press of forehead to knees eventually forced the nausea and other symptoms back to manageable levels. Still, Tom shuddered as he pondered how close he came to losing his mind---even his life---to the Baneans' punishment.

Now he was safe and sound, but still not particularly happy. He hadn't liked the tone of his crewmates' "sympathy" over the last few days. Each expression of "get well soon" or "hope you'll be OK" seemed tinged with a hint of disbelief. As if the speaker hadn't quite been convinced that Tom really was blameless this time around.

He snorted and lifted his head to rest against the wall. Why lie to himself? They were right: He may not have been guilty of murder, but he wasn't exactly an innocent bystander. While he didn't actually cross the line into adultery with Lidell, he'd certainly flirted with it---and her.

A cynical twist of lips accompanied the recollection of how he'd tried to explain his motivations to Harry. He'd certainly watered things down for the kid.

Lidell hadn't been some irresistible siren, just Tom's first chance for sex since the day of his arrest as a Maquis. The moment Janeway had fished him out of prison he'd been eager to celebrate his freedom by fucking someone's brains out. But he'd never had the chance to scratch that particular itch.

There'd been no time on DS9 to find a hooker to shove into a dark corner. And the Fleeters' coolness combined with the Maquis' disdain killed any chance of shipboard romance. Or even just a quick tumble for relief.

So when the opportunity to score had finally presented itself, Tom didn't plan to put up more than a token resistance. He'd been flooded by an overwhelming urge to screw Lidell---it was as if he'd been possessed by some kind of alien force. Or was sick with lust, like his very life depended on bedding the pouty blonde Banean. He *had* to fuck---or die.

The shock that he'd actually paused to reconsider sleeping with another man's wife still hadn't worn off. Not that anybody would actually believe it.

A laugh trickled out to echo in the small space. Tom winced at the bitterness of the sound as he levered himself to his feet. So much irony to appreciate here. Everybody thought he'd bagged Lidell but in reality all he ended up with were a few lousy kisses and a quick grope or two. And in exchange he'd endured a murder trial, conviction, punishment, and people clomping through his mind like Grand Central Station.

All things considered, it wouldn't have been worth it even if he *had* scored. He couldn't afford to lose the crew's respect. Now they were all convinced he was the lascivious cad rumors had painted him when he came aboard. Shit.

It was a good thing he was standing, even if the wall was doing most of the work, because the turbolift suddenly opened and Chakotay strolled in.

The Commander offered a brief nod, but spoke to the computer. "Deck Two."

They traveled in silence.

At least the company was a distraction from Tom's morose musings. He considered the man patiently waiting for the door to open.

There was a remoteness about Chakotay since he'd donned the Starfleet uniform again. Something smooth and polished and completely unknowable. His face had become a stoic mask, set with enigmatic eyes that saw much but revealed little. In some ways, very different from the man Tom had known during his brief stint in the Maquis.

Even though Tom knew he was responsible for Chakotay's attitude, he was irked by the faint expressions he occasionally caught when Chakotay looked at him these days. Disdainful. Indifferent. Or, rarely, as if his ex-captain were coolly, secretly amused.

Like now. The faintest quirk in the full lips and those dark eyes flicking over Tom rasped along the edges of his hypersensitive nerves. His spine stiffened in automatic resentment, but before he could speak an abrupt stop rocked both men off their feet. 

Scrambling to his knees, Tom rubbed his sore elbow. He watched Chakotay uncoil in one sinuous movement and hit his comm badge. "Chakotay to Engineering. Lift A is stuck---between Decks Three and Four, I believe."

"Commander," Joe Carey's voice was a mixed signal: eager to please and hesitant to be held responsible for disappointment. "We have a problem with a blown-out bank of relays. We're not sure how long it will take to get them all replaced. B'Elanna---Lieutenant Torres---thinks we need to find the short in the system first."

"Can we pop the emergency hatch then, or get a beamout?" Tom piped up, eager to get out of the close quarters. He rose and backed to his former position against the wall, his arms automatically crossing.

"No." Carey's voice was a shade less respectful. "We're getting random power surges and outages. Everyone's stuck where they are for the time being."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Update us if the situation changes." Chakotay signed off and chose his own patch of bulkhead, relaxing against the gray surface.

Tom's teeth gritted at the nonchalance of the movement. The other man's calm irritated him and he just wasn't in the mood. Especially when Chakotay's eyelids drifted closed. And stayed that way.

His blood began to boil at the Commander's sang froid. Here they were, stuck in the lift for who knew how long, and Chakotay was just leaning there like he didn't have a care in the universe.

And *ignoring* Tom in the process.

Any other time Tom would have held his temper and his tongue and let the silent treatment slide.

But not today.

"You should thank me," Tom drawled as he pasted on his most annoying Flyboy smile.

The brown eyes opened and one brow lifted a centimeter. It wasn't much of an invitation to continue, but Tom took it anyway. "I was sitting there, being scanned by the Doc, listening to his long-winded speech about my 'sexual peccadilloes'. Then it was Captain Janeway's turn." 

He snorted at the memory. "I had half a mind to let the Captain know about her precious pet Commander's past. That would have shut her up fast enough."

"So why didn't you?"

The tone gave Tom pause. He stared at Chakotay, reassessing, but his first impression was correct: The older man showed no huff, no bluff, just a mild curiosity. Tom rolled to his side, shoulder against the wall, surprised out of his anger. "What?"

"I asked why you didn't." Amusement glimmered briefly as both raven brows rose and the powerful body turned to mirror Tom's. "Have you decided you enjoy being dressed down as much as you do being undressed?"

Tom didn't answer right away, using the time to regroup. Chakotay's offhand quip sparked memories of another time, and a place far away from the Delta Quadrant. A period in his life he never revisited. It was as if Tom had arranged a case of voluntary amnesia, deliberately suppressing the memories of their first meeting.

Despite his threat to Chakotay, even now he preferred to let the past lie undisturbed, and Chakotay's casual question threatened the status quo. 

Caution was definitely called for. "Of course not...I just figured you wouldn't want rumors like that to get started. Small ship, big ears, you know."

Broad shoulders shrugged indifferently. "But they wouldn't be false rumors, would they?"

"What are you saying, Chakotay, you *want* me to tell the Captain what you were up to in the Maquis?" Tom was still trying to wrap his mind around Chakotay's lackadaisical attitude.

"Not particularly, but I'm not going to creep around this ship afraid of the truth, waiting for the sword of Damocles to fall." One hand was flung out in a dismissive gesture. "I don't understand why you think I'd have a problem with my past. I'm a Maquis. I *killed* people for the cause."

Chakotay tilted his head. "So why would I be concerned about having had sex with our allies?"

Tom picked up his jaw off the lift floor and blurted, "Because you were a fucking *whore*!"

Dark eyes frosted as Chakotay corrected him. "No, I'd have to disagree with you there. I never saw a single credit from those...encounters." Then he looked straight at Tom. "You know that better than anyone, Ace."

Tom's mind reeled as the use of that old nickname delivered a jolt that sent his mind racing back to the first time he'd heard it.

************************************************************ ************************************************************

PART TWO

Tom didn't know whether to thank Ro Laren or pop her one. She'd shown up out of the blue to stand before his barstool. And he really did consider it *his*, since this backwater dive had practically become his home since he'd been tossed out of Starfleet.

At first the Bajoran had been just another mark, someone to hustle for drinks or a meal. But then she'd asked if he still knew his way around a navigation console. The lure of flying again had been enough to get him off his ass and into a clinic. He'd been de-toxed, the damage from his liquid diet repaired, cleaned up, and fed.

Of course, now that he was stone-cold sober, he realized that he'd been offered a piloting job with the Maquis. That's not what the contract said, of course, but he'd be a mercenary flying for the rebels just the same.

He sat in the diner where Ro had arranged to meet and reread the terms, which were by no means generous. The up-front portion of the deal would just about clear his debts, and the credits he'd get at the end of his first mission would last only a couple weeks, if he were careful. Of course, working for the group his father despised---yet in a roundabout way had created via the Cardassian treaty---was pure gravy.

Still, the job was not without its downside, including the fact that getting caught would land him in a Federation prison or much worse, a Cardassian one.

He was still staring at the padd, debating whether to affix his thumbprint and seal the deal, when Ro finally lost patience. "Look, I can't wait around here all day while you decide whether to touch the Orb of Destiny or close the cabinet." She stood and grabbed his arm, hauling him along. "You're coming with me."

Tom couldn't think of a reason to refuse, so he followed, still clutching the contract and pondering his fate.

************************************************************

They ended up at a bar/nightclub on the swankier side of town. Tom was surprised that the bouncers waved them in with just a glance at him and a nod to Ro.

The interior was softly lit, a cool contrast to the sultry jazz filling the air. A small stage was tucked into a corner, with crowded tables arranged in concentric arcs around it.

The Bajoran led him to a table off to the side. There were seven people sitting around it, but only one brought Tom to a dead stop. His skin flushed and prickled with instant sexual awareness, a heat Tom hadn't experienced in a while. And never with such intensity.

The stranger sensed their presence before the others and stood to welcome them. Tom nearly stopped breathing as he took in the full picture.

The hair caught Tom's eye first. Night-black locks fell in an glossy cascade practically to the man's waist. Two small braids kept the strands from obscuring his face: high cheekbones, sharp blade of nose, smooth brow, full lips, and strong jaw. 

The eyes were a deep, rich shade of brown, and filled with speculation as the dark gaze leisurely surveyed the newcomers. Ro received a flash of affection while Tom was brushed with a kind of languid attraction.

That was the man's whole aura: A lazy sensuality that spoke of grace and experience and a rock-solid confidence in his own appeal.

He'd get no arguments from Tom. The dark-haired Adonis's skin glowed bronze, strong arms bared by a sleeveless vest. The leather was unzipped to the man's midriff, exposing part of a completely smooth, muscled chest that made Tom's mouth go dry with lust. 

The matching pants hugged the curves of calf and thigh and oh, he wished he could get a better look at that ass. But instead he and Ro were being waved to two empty seats.

Tom was glad his clothes were loose and the table covered him as he hurriedly sat and surreptitiously adjusted himself.

"Glad to see you could make it," Tom's new obsession drawled as he casually tossed a padd to Ro. The soft voice made Tom's cock twitch but he resisted fidgeting. Then dimples made a brief but devastating appearance as the man smiled at Tom. "So, who do we have here?"

"A visitor, Chief." Ro shrugged. "Someone who's considering a piloting offer from our associates and needs a nudge to sign on the dotted line. I figured he might like to join us this evening."

Tom's back stiffened as his eyes narrowed warily. He looked at the remaining six silent strangers at the table as they glared back at him. They were all very well dressed, and obviously not happy with the idea of his participation. He stood abruptly and pulled Ro with him a short distance away. "What's going on here?"

Ro showed Tom the padd. "It's very simple. This..." She indicated the device. "Is a list of donations to humanitarian efforts in the DMZ." 

Her expression of innocence was as credible as a Ferengi's sales pitch. "All of these people have simply gathered to... coordinate their beneficence."

Tom glared. "Cut the crap, Ro. What are you trying to get me into?"

Ro's smile turned shark-fierce. "OK, I won't honey-coat it for you, Paris. These people are giving money and materials to the official aid operations---medicine, food, blankets---so the Maquis can spend their credits on more...esoteric items. Your contract is also legit, at least on the surface. So agreeing to become our pilot counts as a bid in this little silent auction."

"Auction?" Tom's brows quirked. "For what?"

"For Chief's company this evening." Ro gave him a look and headed back to her seat. "And don't bother to pretend you're not interested. That hard-on will poke a hole in those pants pretty soon."

Tom spluttered as he hurried back and sank into his chair. He stared at Chief. Even knowing what the guy apparently did for a living, Tom was hot for the man's bod. Still... "So what exactly are you, Chief?" Tom asked without preamble, his chin lifted belligerently. "Some kind of---"

"I'm simply an extremely grateful man," Chief smoothly interrupted. He grinned, unperturbed by Tom's question. "Someone who is very appreciative of the sacrifices others make to help the people of the DMZ."

"*Very* appreciative," purred the Betazoid woman on Chief's left. Her dark eyes glazed over in memory. The other faces also went slack, then avid.

Tom felt a spark of envy as the bronze man leaned over with a smile to kiss the lady alien's neck, making her giggle then quietly moan. Then Chief stood, his smile full of delightfully wicked suggestions.

"You take some time to think, Ace, while I go do my little thing on stage. If you decide you're interested..." A hint of heat set the dark eyes smoldering. "Do let me know."

Tom swallowed to keep his tongue from hanging out as he got a look at the grade A-plus butt making its way to the small performance space.

Chief picked up an electric guitar, sat on a stool and briefly checked the settings. The club quieted.

Tom had to admit, the guy was quite a tasty carrot for Ro to dangle as a signing bonus. Tom was definitely open to this type of persuasion. And after all, he did want to fly again. He was halfway convinced it might be worth the risks of joining the Maquis to fuck that bronze beauty.

Then the first notes were struck and Tom knew he'd be signing the contract. The song wasn't the sexual tease he expected---it was full of anger and bitterness and passion, all carefully restrained. This Chief wasn't the playful charmer of the table, but someone else entirely. The contrast was fascinating, and the mystery of which man was the true one irresistible.

Decision made, Tom pressed his thumb to his padd and handed it to Ro. He was relieved she hid whatever satisfaction she was feeling behind a professional nod. She stood to let the others know that they were out of luck this night.

Tom didn't even notice as they dejectedly slouched away. The lyrics began to penetrate, and they intrigued Tom even as they found an echo in his own forgotten soul.

/Wish I was too dead to cry My self affliction fades Stones to throw at my creator Masochist to which I cater/

/You don't need to bother I don't need to be I'll keep slipping farther But once I hold on I won't let go 'til it bleeds/

He was focused on the man singing on stage, the shadows painting Chief's features, the slide of dark hair as it drifted forward to ripple over arms and shoulders.

/Wish I was too dead to care If indeed I cared at all Never had a voice to protest So you fed me shit to digest I wish I had a reason My flaws are open season For this I gave up trying One good turn deserves my dying/

/You don't need to bother I don't need to be I'll keep slipping farther But once I hold on I won't let go 'till it bleeds/

Tom shivered at the sight of those full lips forming the words to the song. Bronze fingers shifted to hit the chords.

/Wish I'd died instead of lived A zombie hides my face Shell forgotten with its memories Diaries left with cryptic entries/

/You don't need to bother I don't need to be I'll keep slipping farther But once I hold on I won't let go 'till it bleeds And you don't need to bother I don't need to be I'll keep slipping farther But once I hold on...I'll never live down my deceit/

There was silence as the final notes reverberated into nothingness. Then the applause started. Tom felt irrational jealousy burning in his gut as he saw the hunger in all the eyes devouring Chief as he removed the guitar and leaned it against the stage wall. Without deigning to acknowledge the crowd, he returned to the table.

At that moment Tom realized that Ro had left and the two of them were alone. His breath quickened as Chief approached and held out a hand. "Looks like you're the big winner this evening."

Tom reached out and his fingers were engulfed as he was tugged to his feet and led away. When second thoughts made him hesitate, the other man looked back at him with a grin. "There's nothing to worry about, Ace. Satisfaction is guaranteed." 

Chief winked. "And nobody's asked for a refund yet."

***************

PART THREE (CONCLUSION)

They didn't go far, just to a set of rooms two floors above the club, far enough away to guarantee privacy and quiet.

Tom stopped just inside the doorway, watching as his companion sauntered in to balance on the arm of a chair padded in dark burgundy velvet. There was another chair, bureaus, and a few small tables. Otherwise the room was dominated by a bed graced with a matching cover.

Chief bent to slip off his boots and socks, then wiggled his toes with a contented sigh. The homeyness of the action made Tom smile, which earned him a dimpled grin.

"So, Ace," Chief said as he settled more comfortably on his perch, swinging one leg. "What's on the agenda for the evening?" He gave Tom an appreciative once-over as he waited for an answer.

"Um..." Tom felt uncharacteristically gauche. He certainly knew his way around a bedroom, but this wasn't quite the setup he was used to. "Why don't you tell me what you think I want, and I'll let you know if you're right."

"A challenge." Humor glinted in the dark eyes as the other man stood and stripped off his vest. The zipper that had taunted Tom slid the rest of the way down and parted, fully revealing a sculpted chest and abdomen. Then Chief beckoned Tom with a smile.

Tom stepped forward and once more put his hand in a meaty palm, this time to be led to sit on the bed. The powerful figure went to one knee before him and he felt his shoes being removed.

Tom's fingers of their own accord slid into the dark hair as it fell forward, hiding the other man's face. He stroked the long strands, enchanted by the soft weight of it.

Stillness reigned as Tom continued his hesitant caresses, leaning forward to follow a few locks to the end as they drifted through his fingers.

When the strong chin lifted Tom was startled to see the careless bonhomie gone from Chief's face. Instead there was an intensity that pinned Tom in place, eyes wide.

The moment stretched as Tom found himself lost in the mystery of the dark gaze below his. Then the other man leaned back and rose to his feet.

Tom stood as well, though he couldn't say why.

"I think, Ace..." The soft voice sent a shiver down Tom's spine. "That you want to be seen." The brown eyes held his. "That you want to be touched." One tawny hand rose and curled as Chief stroked the backs of his fingers along Tom's face from jaw to temple. 

It was an oddly tender, intimate gesture that took Tom by surprise. He swallowed, caught up in the moment and the unexpected connection he felt to this stranger.

Then the hand cradled his nape as the tempting mouth drew close to ghost along Tom's cheek to his ear. "I think you want to be loved," was a whisper more felt than heard.

"Yes," Tom admitted.

"Yes," the other man confirmed. Without another word Chief started to kiss and taste the length of Tom's neck, making him moan and shudder with desire. Then he began to caress the clothes from Tom's body, kissing each limb as it was bared.

Tom's senses reeled, his skin drawn tight in reaction to the brushes of fingers and lips and tongue. His eyes closed and he concentrated on the sensations as teeth lightly tugged at the hair on his chest. He groaned, reaching out to grip broad shoulders draped in living black silk. His fingers spasmed, clutching, as a nipple was encased in heat and suckled. The other was rolled and teased by capable fingers.

The raven strands in Tom's hands bunched and tangled as the teasing mouth slid lower, circling his navel. A strangled moan forced its way out of Tom's throat as his pants were opened and his cock freed. Precum chilled the touch of air along its throbbing length.

Tom felt lips exploring his balls, a hot tongue snaking out to stab the sweet spot behind it. Then a long, slow lick up his cock to the glans. 

When that talented mouth finally surrounded him, Tom used his grip on Chief's hair to hold the man in place. He dropped his gaze to watch himself fuck his partner's curved, glistening lips. The sight made him groan deep in his belly as his balls drew up tight.

Then he felt warm hands cup his buttocks, parting them to brush against his opening. The dip of a fingertip sent him over the edge with a shout, his hips driving.

His legs were trembling as he finally stopped and moved to let his cock slip out of its newfound haven. Instead he felt Chief's fingers increase their grip to hold him in place as his spent organ was sensuously licked clean. A kiss on the head marked the end of the encounter as Tom was gently lowered to the bed. He felt his ankles being freed from his bunched trousers.

Tom watched as Chief stood and removed his own pants. He caught Tom's gaze, gave a grin and lazy wink and turned a slow circle.

It was certainly an impressive display. Tom admired all that golden-brown skin gleaming under the low lights. Muscles flowed and stretched as Chief gathered and lifted his hair to try and bring some order to it. His bared back was strong and smooth, set off by a pair of small dimples, one over each round buttock. 

The firm globes flexed as Chief finished and lowered his hands, shaking his head. "I should make you comb out all these knots," he said teasingly over his shoulder.

Tom just snorted as Chief approached the bed and settled on his side, palm supporting his head.

Tom noted the contrast of their skins as dusky fingers walked across his hip to play with the tuft of hair below his belly button. Tom glanced sideways and down to catch sight of a respectable erection. He shifted one thigh to slide across the blushing tip.

The fingers stilled as the other man moaned, then shifted out of reach.

Tom frowned, but whatever he was going to say was stopped by a single finger against his mouth. He was lost again in the liquid depths of the dark eyes. He felt as though he were being measured, explored---seen, touched...loved?

"Just rest a while, Ace." Chief's voice had deepened to a purr. "Let me lie beside you, keep watch over you. The night's not finished yet."

Tom's lids lowered of their own accord. He felt the caress of fingers against his cheek as he slipped into a doze.

************************************************************

Tom grunted awake as another body made contact with his. He felt soft-skinned thighs straddle his hips and a slick hand enfolding his dick. A few teasing strokes and he was hard and aching.

Tom's eyes flew open to see a powerful form carefully lowering onto his engorged cock. Tom gasped as he felt the heat and pressure enclosing first the head, then the shaft, in a long, torturously slow descent.

Chief's features were twisted in concentration. Tom watched, fascinated. He lifted a hand to brush one sharply-drawn cheek, cradle the bold jaw. Brown eyes flew open.

Tom slid his fingers back to tangle in the raven locks once more. He pulled down and forward. Bronze hands settled on his shoulders as all that long hair fell around them.

They were enclosed in their own world, flashes of light stealing in through the gaps between the strands, glancing off their faces as they moved together.

Tom felt his body gathering itself, his hips lifting to drive deeper into the slick channel surrounding his cock. His fingers slid down, exploring the smooth contours of Chief's chest and abdomen, then lower still to grasp his partner's weeping cock and pump in a fast rhythm. They rode, and thrust, eyes locked on each other's faces.

Suddenly the dark head flung back, throat arching in a shout of release. The exquisite vision pushed Tom over the edge and he groaned, stiffening, cum pulsing into the muscular sheath squeezing around him.

He sank back, feeling the weight on his shoulders disappear as his companion rolled off to slump beside him. Eventually their heaving breaths quieted.

A warm cloth ran over his chest and belly to clean up the spattered cum, then shifted lower to wash his flaccid sex. Tom relaxed into the touch with a sigh.

Then the cover slithered against Tom's cooling skin as he felt it being tugged out from under his body. He rolled to help, then crawled between the sheets. His eyes slit open to see the other man settling down for the night, dark hair swept up to spill over the top of the pillow.

Tom stared at the handsome face until sleep claimed him.

************************************************************ ************************************************************

Tom opened his eyes and stretched, his hand automatically reaching for his companion, his mind already anticipating a round of wake-up sex.

He was surprised to find himself alone. He hurriedly rose and checked the bathroom, but it was empty as well.

The ache of disappointment was surprisingly sharp. Tom quickly showered and dressed, his mind full of questions.

He was just on his way out when the door opened. Ro strode in, all business. "Your debts have been cleared," she told him, handing him a padd. "We'd better get to your rooms and pack up. We'll be moving you to one of our secure locations until transport is arranged."

"Wait a minute." Tom stopped, embarrassed. But he wanted to know, so... "I, uh, was wondering what happened to Chief."

Ro's high cheekbones flushed as she shook her head, earring swinging. "Look, Paris, he's gone. Cleared out over an hour ago to receive rush orders for his next assignment."

"I want to talk to him." Determination firmed his jaw.

Ro's eyes flashed annoyance. "Look, Paris, that's just not---" A beep signaled an incoming transmission. She made a frustrated sound and disappeared into the bathroom a moment.

Tom shuffled his feet, uncertain why he was so adamant. It was just that he hadn't felt so much like himself...hadn't felt so much...since Caldik Prime. He brushed a hand against his cheek, remembering another's touch.

"All right, Paris," Ro growled as she returned. "Plans have changed, so you've got your meeting. But *after* we get your stuff, not before. You'll be leaving immediately for your first job."

************************************************************

Soon after, Tom found himself in a cramped office aboard a Maquis raider. He raised his brows at the Bajoran, surprised at his surroundings.

"He'll be here in a moment, Paris." Ro sighed and gave Tom an odd, but not unsympathetic look. "Good luck."

Tom dropped his bag and wandered the small space, hands in his pockets. He turned to face the door when it opened.

His jaw dropped.

The beautiful long hair was gone, reduced to a military buzz cut. The wide forehead now sported a tattoo, graceful lines etched in indigo ink. Chief's powerful body was encased in brown leather, and wore the mantle of command like he was born to it.

But the dark brown eyes were the same, this time filled with welcome and regret. "Hey there, Ace."

"It's Tom, actually." He shrugged. "Tom Paris."

"Yes, I know. My name's Chakotay," the other man said as he walked over to lean against the desk, arms crossed. "I hear you were looking for me this morning."

"Yeah, I was." Tom's chin tilted. "I figured you'd at least say good-bye."

"Why? Because we had something special? Because we 'made a connection'?" Chakotay's voice wasn't harsh, and his eyes were sad and kind. "You use what you have to get what you need---that's the only way the Maquis can survive. That's what I've been doing the last few weeks. An undercover assignment of sorts, a side job while my ship was being upgraded."

Tom's blank look seemed to spark exasperation. Chakotay opened his hands. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Ace? All those repeat customers? Satisfaction guaranteed?" 

He held Tom's gaze. "It's a fantasy. Wish fulfillment. That they may pay to get me into bed, but once I'm there it really means more to me. That they mean more. That they're *the one*...not just a customer; that they're being made love to---not fucked."

Chakotay looked away a moment, then stood and faced Tom fully. "But it's just make-believe. In the morning I regenerate the marks, wash off the stink, and start all over again. It's not supposed to mean anything."

Tom swallowed down a surge of bile. But he didn't look away as Chakotay took a deep breath and continued.

"I'm sorry, Ace. Usually I let people keep their illusions. That was supposed to happen with you as well---we were never going to see each other again." Chakotay shrugged. "But our suppliers' timetable was pushed up and the engineers were done early so you got reassigned to my ship."

The full lips thinned with regret. "Now you've gone from customer to crew, and I can't have you thinking there's something between us that doesn't exist." 

Chakotay seemed to hesitate, then offered quietly, "If it's any consolation, you were the only man I ever actually did that with. Everybody else who wanted to go all the way ended up on the bottom."

"So I had a virgin---and for no extra charge. I guess I should be flattered." Tom saw Chakotay wince but couldn't seem to stop himself. Last night he'd started to hope again, and disappointment was bitter in his mouth.

Chakotay sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. His short hair. "Look, we're going to be stuck together for a week or so until we reach the rendezvous coordinates. From there you'll be taking a shuttle to a drop-off point in the DMZ." 

His eyes searched Tom's. "The Maquis hired you to pilot for us. Are you going to be able to treat this like just another job?"

"Yeah." The word fell flat between them. Tom shifted and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Besides, you've got this all wrong. It was obvious the whole time that you were still on the clock. Pros never kiss."

He continued, trying on a sly smile. "So I wasn't looking for hearts and flowers. You were just one prime piece of tail, Chief. I didn't want you to leave without getting your number---and a list of your rates."

Chakotay looked ready to launch a retort, but instead just shook his head and moved to the exit. "Then there's no problem. I must have been misinformed. I'll have Greg Ayala stop by to show you to your bunk." 

He paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. "By the way, Paris, now that you're aboard my ship I'd prefer it if you addressed me by my title." He left.

Tom waited until he was alone to let his expression of indifference drop. It took a minute to steady his breathing, his thoughts whirling. 

Then his eyes narrowed, his chin lifted, and he pasted on another smart-aleck smile. Chakotay wanted a mercenary, he was damn well going to get one. Tom murmured, "Just a job, *Captain*." It was a promise to himself.

************************************************************ ************************************************************

So Tom made it very clear he was only with the Maquis for the money. By the time he was ready to leave for his mission, Chakotay's crew were well on their way to despising him, and the Captain himself wasn't too far behind.

Better that than having those soulful brown eyes watching him with regret, or worse, pity for being the schmuck who fell for a one-night stand---in an encounter that was only a business transaction at that.

Underneath all the swagger and smartass, though, Tom hurt to see how much of Chief could be seen in Chakotay off-duty: the infectious grin, the puckish good humor. And of course, the face and body. Adding---more likely uncovering---the tattoo kind of made up for losing the dark mane. Though Tom still dreamed of it wrapped around his hands while brown eyes reached into his soul.

Bottom line, though Tom played the part of a jerk he never did figure out if he did it because he wanted revenge, or just wanted what he couldn't have: Chakotay. And he always wondered if anything about that night was real.

But Tom never had the guts to ask, and by the time he was captured his and Chakotay's interactions had devolved to a kind of barbed truce.

So Tom deliberately locked away the memories, shrugging away his speculations as just another one of life's mysteries. Even after Voyager brought them together again.

Until now.

************************************************************ ************************************************************

Tom focused on the triangle of gray shirt revealed by Chakotay's usual half-open jacket when he came back to himself. It was an odd, absurdly comforting bit of familiarity. He wondered if it could also be a subtle touch of defiance on the Commander's part for being forced to wear the uniform once more.

Tom's eyes narrowed as looked into Chakotay's face, then widened as a realization struck him. As far as Tom knew, Chakotay was only 36 years old. Less than a year ago, when they met, he appeared closer to 30.

Now Chakotay did look his age, maybe more. He was harder, harsher, grayer, and definitely colder than he'd been in the Maquis. And while it was a tough life in the DMZ, that wouldn't account for all the changes.

What the hell had happened? The need to know swept Tom with a sense of urgency. But he had to tread carefully.

"You're right, Chakotay." Tom considered a moment. "I should have remembered. And of course I wouldn't say anything. If I mentioned you were...providing certain services, I'd have to admit that I know about it because I...availed myself of them."

He drifted a little closer. "But there is something I can't figure out, Chief. If you don't have a problem with your colorful past, then why have you erased all traces of it?"

For a moment, emotions that Tom couldn't name flared in Chakotay's eyes as they stared at each other. Tom reached out a hand.

Then the lift started. The motion seemed to shake loose their connection. It broke completely when Carey's voice sounded over the comm announcing that repairs were finished.

Chakotay withdrew, stoic and remote once more. When the door opened he departed, leaving Tom's hand and question to hang in the air unacknowledged.

Tom silently watched Chakotay leave. As the panel slid shut, he straightened and asked the computer for Tuvok's location. His exhaustion was gone, replaced by a new sense of purpose.

First he had to thank the Vulcan for the detective work that saved Tom's life---and make sure all the secrets Tuvok had plucked from his mind during the meld would be safe.

Then Tom would begin an investigation of his own.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcomed with great joy and constructive criticism is treasured as a rare gift.


End file.
